Much to my surprise I found myself telling my doctor today that it has been 90 days since my drink. Ninety. That's almost 100. Ask me 91 days ago if I thought this was possible, and I would have laughed in your face while taking a healthy swig of bourbon. Probably Jim Beam because near the end of my time with booze I swore that I wouldn't drink anything of lesser quality. No more Fleischmann's or Ten High or that godawful Canadian shit I found for $6 a handle.
The reason I'm thinking about this today is because I'm currently rewriting a novel I wrote maybe ten years ago. I think I'm finally ready to do it right this time, and as I've been reading it again I've noticed something that I most certainly didn't think about while originally writing this thing. The character is supposed to be a social drinker who fell into a bad time and flirted with alcoholism but is now back on the right track.
And yet this guy is getting plastered every night. Just like I used to.
I would have never thought of myself as an alcoholic back then, and I wouldn't have called that character an alcoholic, either. But as I'm working on it as an older and (presumably) wiser man I would absolutely call him an alcoholic. And, in turn, me. It's kind of overwhelming how much this guy drinks. It genuinely shocked me.
I wonder if I would have thought the same thing if I started reworking this book 91 days ago. It's possible, I suppose, but I think it's unlikely.
It's weird how quickly things can change in your life.
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